Second Book of Verse Part 8

"Cupid's hair is curling yellow, And he hath a saucy face; With his chubby hands the fellow Shooteth into farthest s.p.a.ce, Heedless of all time and place; King and squire and punchinello He delighteth to abase!

"Nude and winged the prankish blade is, And he speedeth everywhere, Vexing gentlemen and ladies, Callow youths and damsels fair Whom he catcheth unaware,-- Venturing even into Hades, He hath sown his torments there!

"For that bow, that bow and quiver,-- Oh, they are a cruel twain!

Thinking of them makes me s.h.i.+ver.

Oft, with all his might and main, Cupid sends those darts profane Whizzing through my heart and liver, Setting fire to every vein!

"And the torch he carries blazing,-- Truly 'tis a tiny one; Yet, that tiny torch upraising, Cupid scarifies the sun!

Ah, good people, there is none Knows what mischief most amazing Cupid's evil torch hath done!

"Show no mercy when you find him!

Spite of every specious plea And of all his whimpering, bind him!

Full of flatteries is he; Armed with treachery, _cap-a-pie_, He'll play 'possum; never mind him,-- March him straightway back to me!

"Bow and arrows and sweet kisses He will offer you, no doubt; But beware those proffered blisses,-- They are venomous throughout!

Seize and bind him fast about; Mind you,--most important this is: Bind him, bring him, but--watch out!"

CHRISTMAS EVE.

OH, hush thee, little Dear-my-Soul, The evening shades are falling,-- Hush thee, my dear, dost thou not hear The voice of the Master calling?

Deep lies the snow upon the earth, But all the sky is ringing With joyous song, and all night long The stars shall dance, with singing.

Oh, hush thee, little Dear-my-Soul, And close thine eyes in dreaming, And angels fair shall lead thee where The singing stars are beaming.

A shepherd calls his little lambs, And he longeth to caress them; He bids them rest upon his breast, That his tender love may bless them.

So, hush thee, little Dear-my-Soul, Whilst evening shades are falling, And above the song of the heavenly throng Thou shalt hear the Master calling.

CARLSBAD.

DEAR Palmer, just a year ago we did the Carlsbad cure, Which, though it be exceeding slow, is as exceeding sure; To corpulency you were p.r.o.ne, dyspepsia bothered me,-- You tipped the beam at twenty stone and I at ten stone three!

The cure, they told us, works both ways: it makes the fat man lean; The thin man, after many days, achieves a portly mien; And though it's true you still are fat, while I am like a crow,-- All skin and feathers,--what of that? The cure takes time, you know.

The Carlsbad scenery is sublime,--that's what the guide-books say; We did not think so at that time, nor think _I_ so to-day!

The bluffs that squeeze the panting town permit no pleasing views, But weigh the mortal spirits down and give a chap the blues.

With nothing to amuse us then or mitigate our spleen, We rose and went to bed again, with three bad meals between; And constantly we made our moan,--ah, none so drear as we, When you were weighing twenty stone and I but ten stone three!

We never scaled the mountain-side, for walking was my bane, And you were much too big to ride the mules that there obtain; And so we loitered in the shade with Israel out in force, Or through the Pupp'sche allee strayed and heard the band discourse.

Sometimes it pleased us to recline upon the Tepl's brink, Or watch the bilious human line file round to get a drink; Anon the portier's piping tone embittered you and me, When you were weighing twenty stone and I but ten stone three!

And oh! those awful things to eat! No pudding, cake, or pie, But just a little dab of meat, and crusts absurdly dry; Then, too, that water twice a day,--one swallow was enough To take one's appet.i.te away,--the tepid, awful stuff!

Tortured by hunger's cruel stings, I'd little else to do Than feast my eyes upon the things prescribed and cooked for you.

The goodies went to you alone, the husks all fell to me, When you were weighing twenty stone and I weighed ten stone three.

Yet happy days! and rapturous ills! and sweetly dismal date!

When, sandwiched in between those hills, we twain bemoaned our fate.

The little woes we suffered then like mists have sped away, And I were glad to share again those ills with you to-day,-- To flounder in those rains of June that flood that Austrian vale, To quaff that tepid Kaiserbrunn and starve on victuals stale!

And often, leagues and leagues away from where we suffered then, With envious yearnings I survey what cannot be again!

And often in my quiet home, through dim and misty eyes, I seem to see that curhaus dome blink at the radiant skies; I seem to hear that Wiener band above the Tepl's roar,-- To feel the pressure of your hand and hear your voice once more; And, better yet, my heart is warm with thoughts of you and yours, For friends.h.i.+p hath a sweeter charm than thrice ten thousand cures!

So I am happy to have known that time across the sea When you were weighing twenty stone and I weighed ten stone three.

THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE.

HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?

'Tis a marvel of great renown!

It blooms on the sh.o.r.e of the Lollipop Sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day.

When you've got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!

But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below; And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so:

You say but the word to that gingerbread dog, And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest.

And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From _this_ leafy limb unto _that_, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground,-- Hurrah for that chocolate cat!

There are marshmallows, gum-drops, and peppermint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains As much as your ap.r.o.n can hold!

So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.

RED.

ANY color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits me best, Though I will allow there is much to be said For yellow and green and the rest; But the feeble tints which some affect In the things they make or buy Have never--I say it with all respect-- Appealed to my critical eye.

There's that in red that warmeth the blood, And quickeneth a man within, And bringeth to speedy and perfect bud The germs of original sin; So, though I'm properly born and bred, I'll own, with a certain zest, That any color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits me best.

For where is a color that can compare With the blush of a buxom la.s.s; Or where such warmth as of the hair Of the genuine white horse cla.s.s?

And, lo! reflected within this cup Of cheery Bordeaux I see What inspiration girdeth me up,-- Yes, red is the color for me!

Through acres and acres of art I've strayed In Italy, Germany, France; On many a picture a master has made I've squandered a pa.s.sing glance: Marines I hate, madonnas and Those Dutch freaks I detest; But the peerless daubs of my native land,-- They're red, and I like them best.

'Tis little I care how folk deride,-- I'm backed by the West, at least; And we are free to say that we can't abide The tastes that obtain down East; And we're mighty proud to have it said That here in the versatile West Most any color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits us best.